


Never-ending Stories

by Blazonix



Category: Original Work
Genre: Mostly Gen, Random Stories, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 06:20:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16848754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blazonix/pseuds/Blazonix
Summary: What would you do if you woke up with black wings? If you made two mirrors face each other under the full moon? If you danced with death?Short stories inspired by tumblr's writing-prompt-s.





	1. Life's a hoe, Death's a sweetheart

> _Life’s a hoe and Death, well Death is actually a sweetheart._

-*-

She loves to dance. All she ever wants to do is dance. From fast paced swing to a slow sway, dancing is etched into her soul.

She visits the old gym often; its dirty back room is cleared out just for her. It’s not meant for dancing, but she puts up mirrors and strings some lights up. When her old cd player calls it quits, she takes out her phone and makes a playlist. It’s enough.

Sometimes she gains an audience while she’s dancing. Sometimes it’s a well-built man in a sweaty tank top, and sometimes it’s a skeletal looking man in a hoodie. Neither says anything to her, and she never stops dancing to acknowledge them.

The well-built man gives her the creeps; his eyes seem to sear into her very body, roaming over every exposed inch.

The skeletal one leaves a different impression. She gets an almost wistful feeling, and his eyes seem to widen when she does a particular striking series of steps.

She’s asked around; no one ever seems to remember such men going by the front desk. The otherworldly presence surrounding them leaves her avoiding the mirrors and averting her eyes.

She can’t confirm it, but she thinks she sees them out of the corner of her eyes when she’s dancing at home as well. Her head will never turn to check though; she does everything she can to never acknowledge these two.

The situation goes on for years. She tells herself she doesn’t care because all she wants, all she needs is to dance. No man or woman matter to her; her goal in life is to live in a dance studio with an amazing sub woofer.

She pretends until she can’t. The day the well-built man doesn’t leave once she’s turned the music off is the day her life turns into a new direction.

“Be mine and you’ll be able to dance for as long as you live,” the man whispers to her with burning eyes. “Be mine and you’ll shine the brightest.”

Fear shoots through her, and she runs past him. A quick glance shows no one behind her. She drives home and curls up into bed with the tv on.

She stops dancing and doesn’t see the men again. She deletes the songs from her phone and keeps the car radio turned off. She turns the tv off the moment the ads come on. It’s too tempting; music will make her start dancing unconsciously.

Her life becomes joyless.

To her surprise, someone begins leaving gifts on her doorstep. It’s small, unobtrusive things such as a ten dollar gift card to the local bookstore or a child’s painting set.

There’s always a little card with white lilies that says “Feel better soon.”

It always makes her smile; the gifts are a dot of color on her now grey world. All of her attempts to find out who the well-wisher is fail.

One day, she puts a single, white lily on her doorstep before she goes to bed. It disappears, and she begins leaving small gifts of her own.

The gifts on her doorstep seem to answer whatever she leaves out. When she leaves out a cheap but beautiful necklace, she receives a shiny bracelet she’s seen in the dollar store in return.

Then she slips one day and makes the mistake of dancing.

She’d been invited to her cousin’s “girl’s night out” and couldn’t get out of it. She told herself over and over not to so much as sway her hips to the beat, but the dance floor practically calls to her. It doesn’t help that her cousin keeps pleading for her to go out there.

The music sweeps through her, and it feels like coming home. She can see and hear nothing but her beating heart.

Then her leg snaps under her. Any sound she makes is covered up by the music. No one stops to help her up, and she barely avoids a foot to the face.

She’s scrambling to get to her feet—her leg isn’t responding, what’s wrong with her leg—when she freezes, breath taken away. Standing over her is the man, the man who talked to her when he shouldn’t have. He’s wearing different clothes and a new face, but she knows those eyes anywhere.

Those burning eyes cut into to her before flicking away in disinterest. She watches with wide eyes as the man approaches another woman; someone who’s dancing had caught her eye earlier.

“Be mine and you’ll be able to dance for as long as you live,” the man whispers those familiar words. “Be mine and you’ll shine the brightest.”

She doesn’t hear the reply, doesn’t even know how she heard the man’s whisper, but he leans down and kisses the woman. The woman kisses back and immediately becomes better. Better looks, better dancing, better clothes—better everything.

She doesn’t understand, but there’s a glow around the woman now. The man looks down at her, her with legs sprawled apart and a gaping expression, and smirks.

She doesn’t understand. She’s confused and disoriented. Her leg won’t work. She doesn’t have the capacity to care, but she can’t tear her eyes away those two.

“Here, take my hand.”

A pair of jeans on the thinnest legs imaginable blocks her sight, and she’s forced to look up. She feels ready to faint; here too is a different face but she knows those eyes.

The main with his sunken in eyes and out of place suit jacket reaches a hand out to her. Her eyes land on the white lily attached to the front of his jacket. She doesn’t know how, but she recognizes the lily as the one she left on her doorstep; the discolored spot on its petals is the same, she thinks.

The man says nothing else, but keeps his hand outstretched to her.  

“I can’t dance with this leg,” she says without knowing why.

“I’ll give you mine,” the man replies instantly. “It’ll look ugly though,” the man adds with a frown.

She doesn’t know why, but she knows he speaks the truth. Knows he would give her what she needs to feel better. She also knows she wants to give back.

“I’ll dance with you then,” she says and takes his hand.

He helps her up, and her leg turns thin and black. She doesn’t let go of his hand, choosing to drag him to a more secluded spot. She feels like dancing slower, away from the jerking movements and grind of the dance floor.

He can’t really dance with one leg, but she doesn’t mind. She’s got enough rhythm for the both of them.


	2. You're the main character

> _One day, you get a knock on your door. When you open it, you see the protagonist from your favorite book standing there, wide-eyed. “I know you won’t believe me,” they say, “but you’re the main character of my favorite book. I know how it ends and I’m here to change it.”_
> 
> _-*-_

“Adan Renaut, you who would bow your head to the king and sunder our family’s name—”

A loud knock interrupted my reading. I blinked as if coming out of a fog, and it took me a moment to realize a series of faster and more furious knocks were coming from my front door. Worry overtook me, and I raced to the door, book in hand.

 _Please don’t let anyone have died_ , I thought irrationally.

Flinging open the door, I froze. A man in a full suit of armor stood on the other side, gauntlet covered fist raised to bash once more. My first thought was that the man was absurdly handsome. My second was  _what the hell?_

“Do not be afraid,” the man said.

His words were gentle, but my brain chose to interpret them as a threat. The sword hanging on the man’s hip helped give me that impression. I rather hoped it was a prop, but something told me it wasn’t.

“I know it is impossible, that you cannot believe me, but you are the lead in my favorite book. I know how it ends. I will change it. I swear to you, I will change your fate!”

His fist trembled before clanging loudly against his breastplate. His striking blue eyes glinted gold, and I found myself taken in by them. Trust me, his eyes seemed to say, follow me to the end of the world. I’d look back on this later to marvel at how easily this man’s power swayed me.

For now, an overwhelming sense of gratitude overtook me, and I had the sudden urge to bow my head in thanks. This man, whoever he was, was here to help. He was my ally.

“Okay,” I said. “Come in, and we can talk.”

I shuffled backwards and waved him in. He crossed the doorway with clanking footsteps, and I was never more thankful that I lived alone in a house surrounded by trees and bushes. My nearest neighbor had recently moved out which left no witnesses to this evening. I suppose I could have said something about cosplaying as a character of the Knight of Renaut series, but I was hardly in a place to think rationally.

_Wait, Knight of Renaut?_

I belatedly realized I’d seen this man before. I looked down at the book still clutched in my left hand. On the cover was the main character, drawn in armor and sword in hand. It was heavily stylized, but the character looked exactly like the man in front of me.

To be sure, I looked between the book and the man several times. I must have been quite the sight with my wide eyes and bobble head impression. I practically felt the man’s look of concern. I slowly shut the door behind me.

“What,” I hesitated and considered the metal armor in front of me, “what is your name, good Sir?”

The man, whose eyes roamed around my living room with undisguised curiosity, somehow managed to stand up straighter at the address. I eyed his metal boots. I wondered if my carpet will shred under those things.

“I am Adan Renaut,” the man introduced himself, “and I have much to say to you, Riley Dagher.”

A shiver ran down my spine. If some part of me believed that this was all just a joke, that some stranger was getting his kicks from going up to random houses and saying ridiculous things, well, I can hardly laugh it off now. I defaulted to what I normally do in a stressful situation.

“To the couch,” I decided. “This requires tea and couch.”

“Ah, yes, your methods to finding solutions involve a false relaxation. Tea and couch,” Adan’s enlightened expression gave me an uncomfortable feeling.

I gestured to the couch and ran into the kitchen. It’s a pity that I didn’t run far; the kitchen is connected to the living room. I had a front row seat to watching a man in a full suit of armor attempt to take a seat on my beloved couch. I had the bizarre feeling he was trying to sit politely, but that was a definite failure considering the flailing.

Luckily my couch hasn’t failed me yet. Aside from some groaning and the awful screeching of metal brushing against metal, Adan settled in peacefully. I made sure to make two cups of tea. Setting them on the coffee table, I sat as far away from the man as possible while still being on the couch.

I didn’t offer a cup of tea to Adan, and he didn’t seem to expect one. Those two cups were for me, one cold and sweet, one hot and bitter. I had the feeling I would need even more by the end of this conversation.

“When you say I’m the lead?” I began.

“Your entire life’s story is written down into a book I read as a child,” Adan said.

I took a long sip of the hot and bitter tea. Nope, not dreaming my tongue replied. The main character of my favorite book really is sitting here with me, telling me I’m his favorite character. He’s probably shredding my carpet too.

“You’re a knight?” I asked as my brain begged me for a diversion.

“Yes. The fantastic details of your world and your life helped me get through many a bad training day,” Adan replied with a nod.

I stared down at my rapidly cooling cup. I knew he was a knight of course. Just as I knew he really treasured this one book his grandfather gave him. My own book never went into much detail about the one Adan read, but I could already see the connection.

Adan’s book was hinted to be science fiction with only three copies ever made. The current theory was that they were written by a prophet, and that it was setting up a more futuristic sequel series. There were mixed feelings for the readers at the thought of leaving behind magic and dragons for a technological setting.

“Okay, give it to me. Start at the beginning,” I said before tipping my head back and guzzling down the rest of the now lukewarm tea.

I ended up baking a pie by the time the phrase “nuclear explosion” was uttered. As bizarre as the whole situation was, I must admit that the strangest part of it all was having someone understand my need for an overwhelming amount of tea and pie when panicking.

“You call it your ‘panic pie.’ ” Adan said knowingly.

I covered my face with a groan.

 

(Excerpt from the Knight of Renaut series:

Far away on the outskirts of an incredible empire was a piece of land overseen by a regional lord. Stuck between a barren ocean and a terrifying forest full of ravenous beasts, this piece of land could not be said to be popular. Indeed, so unpopular was this territory that the current lord’s brothers had all ran away the moment the previous lord died.

Adan Renaut had only just been knighted at the age of twenty-one before being forced back to the rickety old house that he barely thought of as home. Supposedly a manor, the looming building looked ready to slide off the cliff and into the sea.

“My dear Adan! How long are you going to stand there for? Come, hug your mother of whom you’ve clearly forgotten about.”

A woman in a faded dress that could only be said to have come from the previous century beckoned him from the main entrance of the manor. Unknown to her, the sharp angles of the door frame and the position of the doors made for a terrible sight; the house looked ready to eat her.

“Adan!” His mother shouted in response to his lack of movement.

If Adan was the type to sigh, his lungs would be burning. 

“Mother, I have not forgotten you. It is just not possible,” he said.  

He didn’t drag his feet on the way to the angry Mrs. Renaut, but it was certainly tempting. His mother stood there with her arms held out with a dark expression; he didn’t dare make her wait.

“I have been busy,” he attempted to say, wrapping his arms around the slim frame of his mother.

“Excuses,” she responded curtly, “it is always excuses with you. Not another word!”

As much as he wanted to explain the impossibilities of sending letters out at a frequent rate, Adan knew better than to argue, and kept his mouth closed. He also maintained a clear expression. His mother was quick to punish both words and body language alike. 

“Come, let us get you settled in. Leave your things, I’ll have Robert take them to your old room,” Mrs. Renaut said, finally letting go. 

“Robert? Is he not dead yet?” He asked in disbelief.

“That is no way to speak of the man who cared for you as a child!”

“No, I simply meant,” he stumbled over his words, “can he even carry a bag of clothing let alone a full suit of armor?”

His disbelief is not without merit. A servant to the Renaut family for four generations, Robert the Butler had to be seventy years old by now. Long life was not unreasonable for those of higher class, but for the lower class most died by thirty-five.

“Do not slight his ability. Robert has been taking his medicine diligently!” His mother nodded firmly.

“Even if you say that, Mother.”

He glanced back to the carriage in concern. Perhaps he should—

“Come, Adan. Janice is heating water for a bath, and Connor will begin preparing dinner. Until then, tell me of your recent exploits,” his mother said, pulling on his arm as if he had suddenly reverted to childhood.

Shoulders slumped in defeat, he allowed himself to be led into the manor. There was no helping it; he may be the region’s lord, but his mother was its queen.)


	3. Two mirrors under the full moon

> _Legend has it that if you hold two mirrors facing each other under a full moon night, you are able to capture a demon and it will grant you one wish in exchange for freedom. Write your experience of that fateful night_
> 
> -*-

“Whatcha doin’?”

I nearly dropped both the mirrors at the sudden question. With the fragile items held to my chest, I spun around, an excuse on my lips. I stopped and stared at the speaker. It was a kid wearing an over-sized jacket and a trilby hat.

“What are you doing out so late?” I blurted out.

“Nu-uh, I asked first!” The kid said with a shake of the head.

The hat slid around, clearly too big. I bit my lip. While the full moon gave plenty of light to this unlit neighborhood, it was nearing midnight. No one but me and the crazy lady at the end of the street should still be up. I wondered which house this kid belonged to.

“I’m doing a magical ritual,” I deadpanned.

It was true, but I hoped the kid would take the sarcasm at face value. For most people this tone of voice made them demand the “real” answer. I, being too stupidly honest, could then proceed to lie without remorse.

“What kind of ritual is it?” The kid asked, jacket sleeves flapping in excitement.

No such luck, then. I winced at the hopeful eyes that stared up at me. I couldn’t actually see the kid’s eyes as they were hidden in shadow, but I could feel them all the same.

“It’s stupid,” I grumbled, “but supposedly I can get a wish with these mirrors. If they face each other under the full moon, I can make my wish come true.”

I made sure to leave out the part about taking a demon prisoner for said wish. I was already a fool for standing out in the street with these mirrors, no need to worsen my image here.

“Really? Did you get your wish?” The kid squeaked.

I slumped at the question. Why did children need to know everything? Was this my punishment for being out here in the middle of night like an idiot? Of course it had to be. There’s no such thing as free wishes.

“No,” I said wryly, “no, I did not.”

“What was it?” The kid continued to question.

I looked away, the mirrors practically glued to my chest. The light of the moon settled over everything, and I could dimly make out the top of the towering oak tree planted firmly in the middle of the neighborhood.

“You know that big tree with all the carvings on it?” I pointed to it while still not looking at the child. “It’s a thing we do here. People carve their initials onto it before heading off for college. Or moving away, I guess.”

My eyes stayed on that tree. There was a reason I was out here, in the dark, wishing for a miracle.

“You’re supposed to leave your initials with your friends’ initials. I never had that. Friends. I have no friends to leave my name with,” I divulged. “I’m leaving soon, but. Yeah. No friends.”

I took a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m telling this to some strange kid with weird fashion sense. I don’t even know what compelled me to try this.

“I just wanted a friend,” I finished awkwardly, “but as you can see, nothing. The ritual’s not real. It’s just something someone made up.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Startled, I looked at the kid whose face was still concealed by darkness. I couldn’t see a mischievous expression, but I could hear it in their voice. I was sure this kid was making fun of me, but on the off chance they weren’t…

“Kid, thanks, but I’m too old. Your parents wouldn’t have it,” I answered with surety. “You wouldn’t like a stuffy adult like me anyway.”

“Let me walk you home. It’s getting late,” I said before the child could respond.

Granted, it was already late, but if the kid thought a midnight stroll was a good idea, it’s not like they thought it was late to begin with.

“A friend, huh? That’s your wish?” The kid muttered and crossed their arms.

“You know,” the kid said, head tilting, “I have an older brother. He’s your age. He needs a friend.”

I almost laughed. It sounded like something conspiring mothers would say. My own mother used to make lists of potential friends in an effort to help before she gave up on me. The painfully nostalgic memories caused a smile to cross my face.

“Yeah? Does he also wear clothes too big for him?” I teased instead of shaking my head like I wanted to.

It’s not possible for me to make friends; I’ve come to terms with it. This was my last attempt. Still, there’s no need to be negative about it. The kid’s only trying to help.

“I’ll grow into them!” The kid said, clearly offended. “You’ll see when you see my brother. He looks amazing!”

“I’m sure,” I smiled. “Now let’s get you home. Where do you live?”

“The blue house with the dead flower bush,” the kid said after a moment. “I live there with my brother.”

I blinked and turned in the direction of that house. I knew it of course. It’s had a dead flower bush ever since the owner became hospitalized.

“Didn’t the old lady that lived there just die?” I uttered without thinking.

I cringed upon realizing what I said. This was probably her grandson or something. No wonder I can’t make any friends.

“Yeah, we moved in today,” the kid nodded. “We’re staying there so brother can earn his freedom.”

It’s worded a little strangely, but I could understand the need to get away from overbearing guardians. Still, what kind of situation was the older brother in to be forced to take on a child?

“Your brother, what’s his name?” I asked.

I shifted the mirrors to one arm and held out a hand. The likelihood of a car rushing past as we walked down the street was in the negative, but it was an ingrained motion brought on by many baby cousins.  _All who have forgotten who I am_ , I thought with a pang.

To my surprise, the kid took my hand and started swinging our arms while we walked. Their hand was cold, and I wondered how that was possible. It’s a little on the warm side, and the kid was wrapped up in a jacket.

“Rey,” the kid replied, “he likes crows and shiny things. Which the crows also like.”

I hummed in reply, already thinking of a housewarming gift I could get. If he liked crows what did his younger brother—sister?—like? And with that, I realized something important.

“Shoot!” I said which caused the kid to pause in swinging our arms. “I can’t believe I forgot I didn’t know your name!”

“It’s Reym,” the kid said with a laugh. “Rey with an ‘M.’ ”

“That,”  _has to be the weirdest name ever_ , “has to be confusing.” I blinked and the kid laughed again.

“Not really. I don’t get to say our names a lot,” Reym said. “I like crows and shiny things too by the way.”

We arrived at Reym’s house before I could think of something else to say. I looked up at the affectionately labeled blue house and let go of that tiny hand. I pressed on Reym’s back to urge them forward.

“I’ll find the shiniest marble for you tomorrow,” I promised. “Now go to bed and don’t walk outside so late at night, okay?”

I trudged home after making sure the kid actually went inside. I threw the mirrors onto the living room couch and headed to bed. I knew when I bought them that this stupid ritual wouldn’t work, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out either. I’ll find another use for the mirrors.

I fell asleep to the sound of crows cawing in the distance.


	4. Not the chosen one

> _You where just a regular orphan, or so you thought until one day a group of hooded people appeared in your room claiming you were the chosen one and whisked you off to a magical land. One problem, the chosen one was in the next room over._
> 
> _-*-_

“What do you mean this ain’t the kid?” A gruff, deep voice demanded.

“Exactly what I just said, idiot.” A higher, more feminine voice scoffed.

“Let’s just try to stay calm.” The third monotonous voice tried to soothe.

Riley kept the creepy robed people in her sight, and her back against the wall. She had been trying (and failing) to do her homework when these three weirdos had busted down the door. 

She didn’t even have time to scream before she had been dragged away. She still can’t wrap her head around the fact that one of them had waved their hands and a hole - a hole that could have only come from a cartoon - appeared on her aunt’s living room wall.

She’s going to be so pissed off, she thought hysterically. Riley was always the one got the blame for most of the things that happened around her aunt. Her cousin, Dex, could break all the dishes in plain sight, and Riley would still be the one accused. She could only imagine what her aunt would do upon finding the state of the living room wall.

“Well, what do we do about this?” The gruffer voiced one pointed to her, body radiating anger.

She felt the air leave her lungs. The cold stone cut through her thin t-shirt as she tried to melt into the wall behind her. Maybe she didn’t have to worry about getting punished by her aunt after all. The dead can’t feel their ears being twisted.

“Well we can hardly take it back,” the high-pitched one said. “That was our last teleport. Our last hope.”

She was going to die, wasn’t she? She glanced around the large, castle-like room for anything that could help, anything at all. Torches, candlesticks, and an ominous altar lined with skulls were the only items in the room. She might be able to set their robes on fire, but she doubted she’d be able to get to one of the candlesticks before getting caught.. 

Yeah, she was going to die.

“The boss can decide the child’s fate,” the one with the even voice said. “I’ve already sent a message. He’ll be here in a moment.”

That didn’t sound good. Decide her fate? Riley was the only one who could do that. Even her aunt’s pestering was only a temporary distraction in Riley’s life.

She’s had more than enough of this mind-numbing terror, and she refused to sit here and die quietly. These freaky witch people were just going to have to put in the effort to kill her.

Her eye caught a glint shining among the flickering candles, and Riley’s attention was drawn to the altar in the middle of the room. A dagger rested on the small stone table, and an odd feeling settled in her stomach. That wasn’t there before, she thought, was it?

Riley suddenly knew what she had to do. With one last look to her captors, she closed her eyes, got up, and ran.


	5. Wings in a white & black world

> _You live in a world where each person has a set of invisible wings, unable to be seen by others. However, for every good deed, one feather turns white - and visible. Similarly, for every bad deed, one feather becomes dark. You just woke up after a rough night out with your friends and see pure black wings behind you in the mirror._
> 
> _-*-_

Your life is in shambles. You can’t get a job, your loans are stockpiling to infinity, you bombed the midterms, and you’ve managed to cut ties to your family over a piece of bacon. The only thing you have now is several bottles of whiskey and your best friend, Jared.

Oh, and your wings you suppose. It’s not like the debt collectors can take  _those_ away.

You take a glance at your white wings. No matter how bad things have gotten, you take comfort in how good of a person you are. There’s barely a black feather to be found. You may have the short stick in life, but it’s not your fault.

“But what good is that?” You laugh hysterically. “It’s not like I can eat kindness!”

As if hearing your distress, the one person who understands you in this cruel world bursts into the room. Surprised, you almost fall out of the bed. Jared stands over you with arms full of familiar looking bottles.

“Drink up! Can’t think about your troubles if you’re pissed out of your mind!” Is Jared’s helpful advice.

“Remember what happened last time?” You say dryly, eyeing the bottles warily.

“Don’t worry about that! I got a test in the morning, so I can’t drink too much. I’ll watch you, promise!”

What a reliable guy, you think fondly. Jared’s always had your back, and it’s not like the guy knew about your fascination for lawn ornaments. Surely the only thing that will happen is passing out peacefully before waking to a day full of regrets.

You get out the crackers, put on a violent anime, and start chugging. Your best friend is beside you like always, and a feeling of warmth settles into the pit of your stomach. That feeling’s probably only partly because of the alcohol.

Unfortunately, it turns out that the whiskey is more reliable than Jared.

When you wake up, you want to die. Well, you expected that much. What you didn’t expect is to wake up to the blood on your clothes, the blood-covered garden gnome in your arms, and the muscular, heavily tattooed man sitting in the car seat beside you.

You close your eyes because you’re hallucinating obviously.

“Yo, Gnome’s awake.”

You clutch the garden gnome harder and keep repeating the word hallucination. Clearly you are still drunk.

“We’re still waiting on Sticky. We’re leaving his ass if he doesn’t come on.”

All just a hallucination. Yep. Probably just sitting in some poor person’s yard, feeling up their garden gnome. Gosh, your teeth hurt.

“That’s too long to take a piss. Think he’s trying to live up to his name?”

Why your mind is imagining crude men and the smell of blood, you have no clue. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much next time. Maybe you should never drink at all.

“Really?  _Really_? The moment we get to the border, we’re dropping these ridiculous names.”

“But I like calling you Big Mouth!”

“You’re about to be No Teeth.”

The world around you shakes, and you’re forced to open your eyes. Unfortunately, you are still in a car, and there is still a muscular, heavily tattooed man sitting beside you. He looks ready to get into it with the even more muscular man sitting up front in the driver’s seat.

You avert your eyes to the window beside you. Looks like you’re parked behind a gas station. It’s nighttime. You distinctly remember drinking during the morning.

Something horrific catches your eye from behind you.

You move your head, which feels a lot like running a knife through your neck, and peer at your wings in disbelief. They are solid black. You examine your wings desperately, but not a single white feather can be found.

“Jared!” You cry hoarsely.

“Didn’t you already bash his brains in?” Big Mouth says.

“No, that was Gary,” About to be No Teeth replies.

You begin screaming silently all while making threatening motions with the garden gnome. Your white wings—your very pride!—are gone. You will have your revenge. You swear it.

“Back. Don’t bitch, I’ve got doughnuts and ibuprofen.”

Turns out your new crew isn’t so bad after all. They’re pretty friendly and don’t point out your reluctance to part with the garden gnome. You’re not sure why they keep eyeing you like you’re the scariest one in the car though.


End file.
